


To Ex's

by runtostockholm



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-22
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-31 18:12:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3987841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runtostockholm/pseuds/runtostockholm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'“Thank you for saving my park, Ron. It must have been hard for you” Leslie said as he adjusted it, stood back, and admired it. “You didn’t kill Tammy, did you?” <br/>“I’m afraid they can’t be killed.” He sighed, raising his glass. “To Ex’s. May they always stay that way.”'</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Ex's

To Ex’s

 

Ron took down the brunette with the breakfast food, and replaced it with a picture of scrambled eggs, bacon and toast.  
“Thank you for saving my park, Ron. It must have been hard for you” Leslie said as he adjusted it, stood back, and admired it. “You didn’t _kill_ Tammy, did you?”   
“I’m afraid they can’t be killed.” He sighed, raising his glass. “To Ex’s. May they always stay that way.

\---

I am writing this letter to admit regret. Before you came to Pawnee, I met Tammy 2. I assigned her the wrong impression when I met her, much like I did to you. But rather than a fascist jerk (a cute fascist jerk if I may add), she came across as a welcoming, warm, wonderful meatloaf of a person. She was in fact a double crossing, grade A, bitch. A seed of evil the devil himself had planted. She tried to entice Ron to give her the Lot for a new Library branch. After we won our Lot back, Ron and I raised a toast. A toast to ex’. May they always stay that way.

 

But I’m afraid to break that pact of a toast.  
  
You are an ex—an ex of a horrible ending. You even gave me a badge to remember it by. But how I wish you weren’t an ex. You see, I am at a crossroads here. I wish two things: that I a) never had to break up with you, and b) never met you. I loved what we had. You were the best bits of Ann and Joe Biden; the perfect combination of two of my favorite human beings to gently grace this earth into one, cute, compacted elfish body. That is why I wish I had never met you: it made goodbyes harder than I’d ever imagined them to be. I didn’t think someone like that could exist, and yet they do. And I had to blow it for my career. My career I both love and hate simultaneously. Oh Ben, how timing became a flaw so tragic it could appear in a Shakespearian play.

 

I would have packed in my job for you. Moved to Mexico. JJ has a brother down there. But I cannot, for I am here. My family, both work and blood—even Jerry, live here. I would want my future kids to grow up here, to play in the Lot (which by then will be a flourishing park with picnic tables, an amphitheater, swings, slides and a duck pond and so much more, but I’m getting carried away) and to take tours around city hall and would be influenced to grow up to become famous politicians and read my old Eleanor Roosevelt and Betty Ford biographies. That all exists in Pawnee. My past, present and future all reside in Pawnee.   
  
I have to break the toast. I never want you to stay an Ex. You aren’t an ex. You never will be. Ex’s are people who betrayed you, and were snarky and mean and a horrible excuse of someone. But you don’t fit into that category. You’re just someone I didn’t get the timing right with. But nobody will understand that, so for now you’re just labeled as an ‘Ex.’

 

Above all I want you to not be an ‘Ex’ at all. I fear I am loosing you. As a friend, I mean. I’ve already lost you in the worst way possible. I wish we could be friends like we were before. We still do the handshake and you smile but you hold onto my hands for a fraction of a second too long and the lightness doesn’t quite meet your eyes. I wish I never caused the dullness to overcome your eyes. Nowadays you sit in your office and eat with Chris and listen to his five hundred types of lettuce (all I know is the green kind. I mean come on, it’s just lettuce!) and you do that because it’s less painful than sitting with the parks department. That’s what my beautiful fish of a human Ann says, anyways. Tom’s stopped tallying the amount of times you pass or come into the Parks department to just speak or catch a glimpse of me. He used to call it Leslie Pong. Even Andy ( _Andy_!) picked up on the vibe and has stopped giving you complimentary shoe-shines for just being my friend.

 

Please don’t remain an ex. I miss you.  
  
Leslie.

 

(P.S: I heard Chris talking to Ann and he said you were in your Letters to Cleo shirt. Please be fine.)

 


End file.
